Disgust
by Vernan
Summary: Ten years after Anakin seizes control and forms the Empire, a manipulated Padme cannot remember the woman she once was. OR The history of a family, in three parts.
1. Dysphoria

Hello all, this is one of my more "out there" pieces. TBH, a lot of this story is me working out all the complicated thoughts and feelings that I have been having about my own life. While this is an older story and does not necessarily reflect my current state, I still value the feelings and struggles of the person who wrote this several years ago in the midst of a deep personal crisis. Although I respect all my readers and hope they can recognize the difference, I'd like to emphasize that _the author's thoughts and beliefs are not the same and are often very different from those of the characters of this story_.

I'd also like to give general warnings for mental and emotional manipulation, as well as self-hate, which feature pretty heavily in this story. Please, please take care of yourself and don't read if this will be upsetting/triggering to you.

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PART ONE- _Dysphoria_

She is in the middle of eating her favorite dish when she abruptly drops her fork. The twins look sharply at her, their eyes narrowing suspiciously, but she is too distracted too care.

It is as if she had been dreaming for the last ten years and the weight of all that had occurred had finally registered. Every private thought, only coming to her in the dark of night, in moments when she is the alone one in the household still awake, comes to the forefront of her mind.

Something of her thoughts must show on her face because Anakin is frowning at her.

"Is something wrong, my love?"

He tenderly holds her hand and gazes at her with honest, open eyes that have captured the loyalty of the masses, prevented rebellions and ended wars. She averts her gaze, finding she cannot bear to look at him, this man that is nothing like the one she married. Instead, Padme glances at the twins who sit at either side of their father.

Her children look at her with strangers' eyes. On some level, they must sense her own self-hatred and disgust, her inability to stand up for herself. Though they would never approve of her going against their father, they are aware of her weakness and frailty, and inwardly despise her for it.

She can't hold this against them. They are as caught as she is, still in thrall to the brilliance of their father. He has twisted and molded them in his image, and they have willingly allowed it because they are in awe of him. Because they love him. One day, perhaps with time and distance, they could find a way to live without his all encompassing presence and make thoughts of their own, though Padme knows Anakin will never let that happen.

What would they say to her, their timid mother, if they did ever manage to escape from Anakin's grasp? Would they hate her even more for her lack of action? Surely she could have done more. She knows that the little approval they give to her is when she is loyal to their father. That would disappear if they knew all that had been denied to them, and the burden of their disdain already weighs down heavily upon her battered spirit.

She looks at her children as the table waits for her to speak, to explain her lapse in composure. There is no sympathy or understanding in their cool gaze. She could cry for the lack of love she sees in her children.

Anakin speaks again in a deceptively calm voice.

"Is the meal not to your liking?"

How did she become like this? When did she stop being his wife and become a possession to be jealously kept and guarded? When did she lose her spine?

It must have been after the twins came. She had been sick with worry and loss, the world seeming to grow dark before her very eyes as the light that she had so loved was twisted and perverted until it was utterly unrecognizable. Despite her love for her newborn children, she had wished only to pass on from this wretched nightmare, to never again remember the face of her beloved. Even as she had helplessly claimed that there was still good in him, images of Jedi younglings cut down in the Temple halls haunted her thoughts. Oh stars. He was a father of her children and he had done that. Nothing made sense anymore. If Anakin was the coldblooded murderer of children, then up must be down.

It must have been a dream, all of it. Her Ani would come for her and tell her it had just been a nightmare.

When he had stormed the medical wing, full of anger and suspicion and betrayal, she had clung to him, weeping all the while. Ani is here, she had thought, and he will make it all good again. Then he had taken her face in his hands, and smiled through his tears as he told her that no one would ever hurt her, not with his new empire. An empire that they would rule together. As he had wiped her face and continued to smile she had felt a weight in her mind, as he had tried to impress upon her all that he couldn't say with words. If only she would understand he did this for her. There was a strange moment when she felt like she was falling, when she was so very dizzy and confused. And then she discovered that she _had_ fallen, that Anakin was holding her, looking so very concerned, but she couldn't quite remember why. It was as if a veil had fallen over every negative thought, the world rendered in a dull grey, fading into nothing at the edges. After a while, everything else seemed to not matter and she had fallen asleep in his lap, feeling safe at last.

It had been the beginning of the end.

She wonders when Anakin will realize that the more he tries to possess her, the less she will resemble the woman he loved. With heartbreakingly clarity, she can imagine him pulling back in disgust at the shell of what she once was, angered at this poor imitation of his beloved. She can almost feel her throat closing as he squeezes the life from her body in a fit of rage, offended by this mocking relic who is not worthy of the memory of his Padme.

He would be horrified, once he had realized what he had done. He would try to bring her back, and would turn on everything and everyone around him once he found that he could not. Once his anger abated, his tortured thoughts would twist his memories of her until she was viewed with hatred and a stinging sense of betrayal. How dare she leave him? How could she do this she turned against me she is MINE.

As if sensing her thoughts, Anakin's hand tightens. Knowing she can no longer avoid him, she meets his gaze.

His eyes are like twin suns, both life and death, burning all that come too close. In their brilliant fire, she feels like wax, melting in the heat, clearing all the mess away. For the first time in years, she feels like herself, grasping a long lost remnant of the woman she once was. Her eyes harden and narrow as she stares him down.

The disapproval of the twins is almost palpable, and she knows that she is alone in this confrontation.

Even as she realizes this, Anakin's smiles at her, a soft expression that is almost smug, though she doubts he is even aware of it.

He knows, she thinks.

She cannot win this battle of wills, and Anakin knows that she sees this. He has the twins, and against the power of their combined disapproval she will cave and quietly defer to Anakin's authority. With a feeling of horror, she sees the figure before her transformed into a terrible demon wearing the shape of the man she once knew. There is nothing recognizable about the man who claims to be her husband.

A long forgotten emotion wells up inside, overwhelming all else, and it takes her quite a while to recognize it as rage. It burns at her core, and she has stop from leaping forward to wipe that look from his face. She has never before hated anything the way she hates the man in front of her.

The twins, so sensitive and observant, no longer looked admonishing, but scared.

This thought distracts her. Even if she did break free from Anakin's control, she could never leave her children to be alone with him. Oh gods, she is so helpless.

"Padme?"

Anakin looks concerned now, his eyes wide and innocent, and he leans forward as she feels a slight pressure at her temple, a barrier yielding to an outside force…

And then it is gone. She is suddenly overwhelmed with shame. How could she believe such horrible things about him? What had he done to deserve such disloyalty from her? She should never have doubted him.

In response to her thoughts, Anakin smiles at her, squeezing her hand encouragingly.

"Are you alright?"

"Forgive me, my love. The meal is wonderful. I don't know what came over me."

The twins seem to sigh with relief and approval. He smiles benevolently at her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Even as she leans into the gesture, a curious feeling of nausea and disgust twists within her stomach.

"Think nothing of it. Your presence is all I need."

Their meal continues in silence, the strange moment ignored and forgotten.

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TBC


	2. The Butterfly

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PART TWO- _The Butterfly_

He marvels at the exquisite agony of pushing himself closer and closer to the edge. It is pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heartbeat accelerating and his mind raising itself from its listless fugue. He is alive.

As the wind catches his hair, uselessly attempting to rip him from his perch on the edge of the railing, Luke leans forward. He laughs breathlessly, a sudden grin stretching the corners of his mouth. It is such a long drop. What a heady sensation, realizing how angry his father would be if he saw Luke right now. He feels bold, daring, _powerful_.

A cold wind blows up his shirtsleeves and he shivers. Slowly, he climbs back over the railing and heads indoors. He would never defy his father, but it was nice to pretend just for a little while.

As he walks back to his room, his brain continues its inevitable churning as he remembers the drop. What would meet him at the bottom? His mother?

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 _"Are you afraid of me?"_

 _"No," her voice wavered, hands shaking, "I'm not."_

 _"Liar!"_

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She's been gone for a little over a year now. Padme's slow mental decline had affected them all in different ways. Leia had merely been angry at her mother's perceived disloyalty in abandoning them at such a young age. Luke, in a way that shocked and disgusted him, had despised her, seemingly without reason. It was only after her death that he realized it was because he had seen his own weakness reflected in her vacant gaze.

Every time he recognizes a trait of his mother within himself, or some physical resemblance, he wants to tear off his skin, to stand up, straight and proud and apart from the frail creature that haunts his thoughts. One day he will be strong enough that it doesn't matter.

There's this strange dizzy feeling he gets when he thinks about his mother, about harsh words and shouted arguments, about the weight of a body when it falls to the ground. He's a stranger in his own body; he watches another experience pain while he wonders at how cold the world has grown, frost creeping along at the edges of his vision.

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Day by day, Luke suffers a slow death at the hand of the one who once sacrificed the galaxy to save him.

The irony is not lost on him. Especially as he grows older, he can see his father's failings and hypocrisies. Despite all that, his father is the center of his world, and he unerringly bends to follow his every wish and command, even as he feels as he wishes that he could be anywhere and anything but where and how he is.

He quietly realizes that he has been handed just enough rope to hang himself. He is just perceptive enough to see the situation he is in, but not enough to know how to get out of it or to even want to. Like his cursed mother, he has been given eyes to see, and he bitterly wishes that he could stay that small child of ten and forget everything.

Why can't he be content, like Leia?

Unlike her, he can't stop seeing everything, and he hates himself all the more for it. It is so much worse, because he knows what is happening, but desperately wishes that he could pretend otherwise. He cannot blame Leia, only himself.

Leia feels all this through their bond. She is sympathetic to his suffering but can only watch in confusion as he tears himself apart over this, not understanding. The divide between them can be measured by the weight of the things that she does not know, the things he wishes he could forget. How long before she grows tired of him, weary of his inability to cope with the simplest of things?

If he could divorce his sense of awareness from his overly perceptive mind, he would. But his mind is useless, paralyzing, weak. He is drowning and he does not even know which direction leads to the surface.

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 _"I want to be a great man. Like my father."_

 _/_

Today is a good day. Anakin is calm and confident, and there is nothing to be afraid of, not in the bright light of a cloudless day.

It is not always like this. There are days when his father raves and rants, convinced that the Jedi plot to steal his children away from him or that the twins have turned against him. He is violent and furious and so very afraid.

Having once experienced the helplessness of having virtually no control of any aspect of his life, his father seems unable to ever feel fully secure in his power. The galaxy is his, but it is never enough. It sometimes seems to Luke that the fear of losing his children has more weight than their actual presence. Even if Anakin did somehow secure absolute peace and security, would he know how to live without that defining aspect of his personality? Would he want to, even?

But there is more than just Anakin's temper to worry about. The worst days are when he is deceptively calm and lucid. It is as if a stranger has come and possesses his father, a stranger who delights in watching the world burn.

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Sometimes, very rarely, he can please his father, basking in the warmth of his approval.

Leia, who always does everything right the first time she is asked, possesses a clarity of vision and purpose that Luke envies. He secretly dreads that he takes after his mother, inheriting her indecision and weakness. However, he also knows that despite his failings he is the only one that can calm Anakin's raging tempers and unpredictable moods.

Like she did.

His father's hands run through his hair.

"You'd never leave me, would you?"

Luke shakes his head.

"You're my father. I love you."

"Yes, I'm your father. I know what's best for you. Not anyone else."

His father pulls him closer, gripping his shoulder with inhuman strength. Luke doesn't mind the pain, not really; the strong grip helps ground him and marks him out as belonging to Anakin.

Leia watches, studiously appearing as though she does not care. At fourteen, she is beyond petty jealousy or rash decision making.

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 _"There's good in him. I know it."_

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Surely one day there will be a reckoning for what he has failed to do, for what he has allowed to transpire. For now, there is just himself, an unworthy, insignificant supplicant at the feet of his father.

Maybe if he tries very, very hard, he will eventually forgive himself. Or forget. These days, there doesn't seem to be much of a line between the two.

He absently wonders if this is how his mother had felt.

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TBC


End file.
